I spy with my little eye
by ytteb
Summary: We all know Gibbs needs glasses ... how does he get them? How does Tony help? What does McGee do? More silliness!
1. Chapter 1

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was definitely in a good mood as he entered the squad room that Monday morning. There was joy in his heart and a song on his lips as he considered the delights of living in Washington in the Spring. He had spent a _very_ pleasant Sunday strolling in the Washington Arboretum admiring the cherry blossom with his new neighbour Sally. Traffic signals had been green all the way to work that morning, his car still had that freshly valeted aroma and there had been no queue at the coffee shop. Yes, life was good.

He sighed happily as he put his weapon in his desk drawer, threw his backpack into a corner and sat on his perfectly adjusted chair. He gazed contentedly around the office and felt an extra surge of pleasure when he realised that his trouble free journey to work meant he was the first to arrive so he had bragging rights for the rest of the day. He smiled as he took a sip of his coffee which was still at the perfect temperature.

The phone rang.

"_Good_ morning. This is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. How may I be of assistance on this beautiful day? ... Oh! ... I see. ... Yes, I have told him. ... Today? ... Yes, I'll see to it. ... Yes, I know I've said it before. ... Yes. ... Bye."

Tony sighed and put his head in his hands for a moment. He looked out of the window and spotted the sun disappearing behind a cloud. He took another sip of his coffee; it had cooled down. He looked towards Gibbs' desk and his eyes narrowed in concentration. He came to a decision. He looked round briefly and walked over to the Boss's desk. He glanced at the top of the desk but didn't find what he was looking for so he reached into his jacket pocket and drew out his lock-pick. After a few moments of fiddling he was able to open the top drawer. He removed an object, put it in his pocket, re-locked the drawer and managed to be back at his desk just as the elevator dinged to announce someone else arriving for work.

It was Gibbs, who apparently had not enjoyed a pleasant weekend ambling beneath the cherry blossom and seemed to have a journey to work impeded by motorists keeping to speed limits and obeying the rules of the road. Tony noticed that he seemed to be squinting slightly and his resolve hardened.

"Hey, Boss. Good weekend?" he asked.

"Got that report, DiNozzo?" was the only reply he got. Safe to assume that the weekend had not gone well.

"Just about to print it off, Boss," lied Tony. He had actually printed it off last thing on Friday but he decided to make an adjustment. He brought the file up on screen, reduced the font by a couple of sizes and printed that version off. He handed it to Gibbs and walked back to his desk.

Gibbs scowled in displeasure at the report and was about to say something when McGee arrived bearing coffee for everyone. The beast was soothed for a moment or two but he soon had to go back to the report. Gibbs sighed when he realised his arms weren't quite long enough for reading it so he rummaged in his drawer looking for his glasses.

"Looking for something, Boss?" asked McGee.

Gibbs stared at him,

"Well, no, McGee. I was just giving my fingers some exercise."

Tim looked across at Tony and they exchanged sympathetic glances as they both felt the beneficial effects of a happy weekend dissipate under the withering Gibbs glare.

"I was sure I put a spare pair in there," muttered Gibbs.

Tony brightened at the prospect of the stage of his plan working but then he frowned when Gibbs reached into his coat pocket and drew out a spectacle case.

"Uh, I thought you'd lost those, Gibbs," he said.

Gibbs looked surprised at the close interest Tony seemed to be taking in his possessions.

"No, found them yesterday in the darndest place. Don't know how they got in my wood box."

Tony, who knew exactly how they had got there, smiled weakly as he tried to think of a way round this unexpected development. He was helped from an unexpected source.

"Probably just a senior moment, Boss," said Tim helpfully, "nothing to worry about. My mom gets them all the time".

Gibbs removed his glasses; experience had taught him that a stare over the top of them lacked the impact of an unimpeded look. Tim's brain caught up with his mouth and he realised the enormity of his error,

"I'm not saying you're old, Boss. Not that there's anything wrong with being your age. Lots of older people are. Not old, just older. And it's good to be old ... I mean older. More experience. And I was reading this article that said grey is the new black. Which is interesting because most people would have thought grey was the _old_ black – you know, black goes grey when it gets old. Older. I mean ..."

Oddly enough, McGee's panicked ramblings seemed to cheer Gibbs up and his lips quirked in a half smile. He reached for his glasses but at the moment DiNozzo managed to sweep them off the desk with another version of the report.

"Sorry, Boss," he said, "realised I'd printed it off with a tiny font. Thought this one might be better."

"Thanks, appreciate it," said Gibbs, restored to almost good humour by Tony's thoughtfulness and Tim's stuttering. It didn't last long. Gibbs' eyesight might be patchy but his hearing was excellent so he had no trouble picking up the sound of his glasses being crushed by Tony's feet.

A neutral observer might have found it amusing to see the rage which swept across Gibbs' face, the way the colour drained from Tim's face and the way in which Tony dropped to the floor and began frantically picking up the twisted, shattered remains of Gibbs's glasses. There weren't any neutral observers in the squad room so nobody laughed and most people tried either to dive under their desks or leave the floor.

Gibbs rounded his desk and loomed over the crouching Tony. Tony looked up and tried to smile,

"Sorry, Boss. Slight accident. I'm sure they'll be fine."

"You think?" growled Gibbs.

"Well, perhaps Abby could do something?" said Tony hopefully.

Gibbs stalked back to his desk, grabbed his gun and walked back. McGee wondered if Abby would hide Tony's body if Gibbs killed him for breaking his glasses. He wondered how _he_ would testify at Gibbs' trial. Would smashing of spectacles be accepted as proof of justifiable homicide? McGee held his breath as these thoughts raced through his mind. Fortunately he was never to get an answer to his questions. Gibbs slammed his weapon into the holster, leaned down towards Tony and hissed,

"Make me an appointment at Winkies ... Now!"

"Yes, Boss," said Tony in a quavering voice as he stayed on his knees. Tim thought that was the most sensible he had ever seen Tony behave. He was surprised, therefore when, as soon as Gibbs had entered the elevator, Tony jumped up jauntily, wiped the knees of his pants and strolled across to his desk. He picked up his phone and made a call.

"Hi, Winkies Optometrist? Special Agent DiNozzo here. He's on his way."

He turned and saw McGee gaping at him,

"Gibbs' eye exam is overdue. Desperate measures, Probie, desperate measures."

NCISNCIS

Meanwhile, at Winkies Optometrist (otherwise known as 'Seeing is Believing'), preparations were under way. Members of staff of a nervous disposition were advised to take an impromptu coffee break while Nancy, the optometrist, and her assistant braced themselves. Naturally, they didn't have long to wait and Gibbs soon swept in.

"Ah, Special Agent Gibbs," said Nancy, "Special Agent DiNozzo just called to make an appointment. You were lucky, we'd had a cancellation so we can fit you in." She turned a warning look to her assistant who looked as if she was about to say that the appointment had been booked days ago.

"Just need a new pair of glasses," said Gibbs, "don't need an eye exam."

"Special Agent Gibbs," said Nancy firmly, "your last exam was more than a year ago. It would be professionally irresponsible of me to get you a new pair of spectacles without an examination."

"Later," growled Gibbs.

Nancy reached for another weapon but her assistant piped up,

"Dr Lester, didn't you say that Federal agents have to reach certain sight standards to retain their field status?"

Nancy looked at her approvingly,

"That's right. Of course, those standards can be reached using properly prescribed spectacles." She smiled sweetly at Gibbs who, remembering that he had a boring meeting scheduled with the Director, decided he might as well take the exam.

Dr Lester began to lead her unwilling patient to her room but her assistant intervened again,

"Oh, Dr Lester, we moved the glaucoma testing equipment into the other room. Don't you want me to test Special Agent Gibbs for glaucoma? After all we do it as routine for older patients."

Gibbs turned to glare at this foolhardy person but found himself disarmed by her innocent look. If it wasn't that her eyes were brown rather than greenish it would have been just like looking at DiNozzo. Nancy smiled to herself, she had been building up to the additional tests that she knew Gibbs hated but she decided to leave them in the capable hands of her assistant.

"Come this way, Special Agent Gibbs. I'll be gentle with you."

Nancy reached her room just before she gave into loud laughter. She wasn't smiling a bit later as she finished Gibbs' exam. She sighed as she steeled herself to give the news,

"Well, Special Agent Gibbs, your eyes are in excellent health, all the tests came back clear."

Gibbs smiled and made to leave the chair.

"However," said the doctor.

"However?" asked Gibbs poised halfway out of the seat.

"However, your eyes have deteriorated a little. You will need a stronger prescription."

Gibbs sank back in the chair despondently.

"Now, Jethro," said Nancy reasonably, "it's just a small adjustment."

"Small to you," grumped Gibbs.

"Jethro, we go through this every time. We're all getting older and it just happens".

"Don't have to like it, though," pointed out Gibbs.

"Jethro, may I tell you something?" said Nancy. Gibbs nodded, "I'm just grateful that you keep turning up for these appointments. In your line of business I think you should be happy that you keep on getting older even if it means your eyes get old too."

Gibbs laughed,

"OK, Nance. I'll try to look on the bright side."

"Good. Now, why don't we get these new glasses sorted out. I'll get Marylou-Belle to help you."

"Who?"

"Marylou-Belle, my new assistant. She did the first part of your exam."

"_Marylou-Belle?_ Good Lord," sighed Gibbs.

"I know," said Nancy, "she's actually shortened it from Marylulu-Belladonna."

"Hello, Special Agent Gibbs," chirped Marylou-Belle, "I've got some lovely frames to show you. Did you know that you can get wooden frames now? Or if you don't like those, how about some horn frames – we can get them individually carved for you."

Gibbs sighed but couldn't bring himself to vent his irritation. Marylou-Belle looked, to his failing eyes, as if she had only left school the week before.

"Or," she continued brightly, "we have these wonderful tungsten frames which are practically invisible. And _very_ strong."

Gibbs' mood lightened; he began to think that Marylou-Belle was a rather sweet name. His mood lifted ever more when Nancy said,

"Agent DiNozzo is due his eye exam next week. I'm a bit worried I'll have to suggest reading glasses for him. It was touch and go last time."

Gibbs smiled a rather evil smile; he sensed retribution on the horizon.

* * *

_I have a theory that Gibbs changes his glasses quite often but can you imagine being the person having to do the eye test?_


	2. Chapter 2

In the days following Gibbs' eye exam, Tony could have been forgiven for wishing that the Boss was still wearing his pre Marylou-Belle glasses. She had persuaded him into a top of the range light weight, super-strong pair of spectacles which had practically invisible frames and which did not irritate him. That, and the improved prescription, meant that a newly efficient Gibbs was practically eating up the paperwork _and_ was spotting every uncrossed T and undotted I. He seemed to take an unnatural pleasure in returning any files, reports, requisitions or lunch requests that did not meet his freshly acquired even more exacting standards.

"Anyone would think you need glasses, DiNozzo," he said as he passed another heap of paper back to Tony.

Tony looked up at him suspiciously,

"Not me, Boss. 20/10. Better than most."

"We'll see," said Gibbs knowingly and he smiled. Tony chose to think he smiled because he had just taken a sip from a new cup of coffee but it didn't look like the usual coffee inspired smile.

Tony didn't think he was paranoid; he knew that quite often his team was genuinely out to get him (in a friendly, team-y, bantering way – he hoped). No, Tony was not a overly suspicious person but he felt that something was up; there was a certain tension, an air of anticipation in the squad room at the moment. Gibbs wasn't the only person who seemed obsessed with glasses.

Abby was definitely up to something. He had gone into her lab that morning and found her gazing at some old surveillance footage.

"Hey, Abs, have you got that result yet? Gibbs wants to know how long it takes for a wood-louse to shrivel. Won't sign off the report until that's done and dusted. Er ... why are you looking at that old stuff?"

"Oh, hi, Tony. Do you ever see that FBI lady?"

"Which FBI lady? There are so many."

"The one you went to the curry house with, when you were undercover. You know when you wore the camera glasses."

"No. I think she transferred out. Why?"

"Oh ... oh," Abby floundered, obviously looking for a reason for looking at pictures of Tony. Tony waited with interest; Abby's thought processes were always intriguing and reached new heights when she was trying to cover her tracks. He wasn't disappointed.

"Well. Did I ever tell you about my friend, ... er, my friend To-To-Tory?"

"To-To-Tory? No, I don't think so."

"No, his name is Tory. I was just stuttering a bit," claimed Abby.

"Why? Am I making you nervous?"

"No, of course not," said Abby unconvincingly.

"So, what about Tory, Ab-Ab-Abby?"

"He looks just like you," said Abby enthusiastically.

"And yet you've never mentioned him before," said Tony.

"Well, perhaps not _exactly_ like you," said Abby backtracking a little, "I mean, he's about six inches shorter than you, and he's bald and got lots of tattoos".

"So, actually he's nothing like me?" said a puzzled Tony.

"Well, to the untrained eye, perhaps not," confessed Abby, "but I'm an expert. And Tory has got exactly the same facial structure as you."

"Really," said Tony.

"Yes!" said Abby, "it's quite uncanny. How someone look completely different to another person and yet look exactly like them."

"We'll have to hope you never have to identify a suspect, Abs, the defence lawyer would have a field day with you."

"I have an inner eye," said Abby with dignity, "I can see inside people."

"Have you told Ducky? You could save him lots of time on X-rays." Tony saw that Abby was ready to pursue the argument and, aware of a waiting Gibbs who currently had no difficulty reading the time on his watch, tried to move things along, "so why are you looking at these old pictures again?"

Abby looked puzzled for a moment but then she turned her thoughts away from her inner eye and remembered what she had been talking about,

"My friend Tory ..."

"Who looks just like me?"

"Yes," said Abby.

"While looking _nothing_ like me?"

"Yes," confirmed Abby.

"What about him?"

"He's really worried that he's going to have to get glasses."

"And?"

"Well, I remembered that you look just like him,"

"If you cut his head off and put a wig on him," said Tony.

"And a tattoo on his neck," added Abby, "you know Tony, I think you'd look good, I mean, even more handsome, with a tattoo. Or two."

Tony shuddered: this was an old disagreement. He preferred to keep his skin pristine. He made a circular motion with his hand to indicate that Abby should carry on.

"Well, I remembered the thing about the bone structure and I remembered how good you looked in those undercover specs. So I thought I might use your face and try out some different shape frames on it, to see what would suit you most. I mean, suit Tory best. You don't mind, do you?"

Tony sighed; he had no idea what Abby was up to and he doubted that he could stop her anyway.

"Whatever, Abs. Just let me know about the withered woodlouse, will you?"

"Absolutely. And, by the way, I thought you looked good with that FBI lady!" promised Abby. She waited until she was sure he was gone to continue with her program: dozens of tiny Tony (sorry, Tory) pictures filled her screen, each wearing a different pair of glasses. "Looking good, looking good," she purred.

NCISNCIS

Tony wondered if Abby's 'inner eye' had some sort of prophetic power when he got back to the squad room and found that Agent Tobias Fornell had dropped by for a sparring match with Gibbs. Abby's talk of the FBI seemed to have conjured up one of their agents.

"Ah, DiNutso," Fornell greeted Tony, "I've come to borrow you."

"What for?" asked Tony suspiciously.

"Your lack of trust wounds me," said Fornell, clasping a hand to his heart. When Tony failed to respond he continued,

"My new boss wants to introduce regular forums with the personnel of sister agencies to discuss particular areas of concern so we can develop synergies and economies and build mutual trust and ... and ... well, I forget the rest. You get the idea."

"And you want _me_?" asked Tony incredulously, "what about Gibbs?"

Fornell laughed, "yeah, because you say the name Gibbs and the words synergy and co-operation spring to mind immediately."

"OK," conceded Tony, "but what about McGoo? He loves words like that. I think they were part of the M.I.T. motto."

Fornell winced and, once again, Tony saw his point but he tried to escape once more.

"You OK with this, Boss? Still have to find out about the wrinkly wood louse you know."

"I'm sure Abby will have sorted it out by then, DiNozzo. Director's keen on it, so you're on. Hey, Tobias, the meeting's not on Tuesday is it?"

"Not scheduled yet. I'm still working out who to invite. Why, what's happening on Tuesday?"

"DiNozzo's got his eye exam," said Gibbs with satisfaction.

"Need new glasses, do you?" asked Fornell.

"N-o-o," said Tony with a touch of irritation, "I don't need glasses. My eyesight is 20/10. Better than most."

Fornell thought for a moment, "But you used to wear glasses, didn't you. Seem to remember when Agent Todd joined the team you wore glasses then. What happened? Do you wear contacts?"

"NO," said Tony, wondering why everyone seemed fixated on his eyesight.

"Well, why were you wearing glasses then?" asked Fornell. Tony opened his mouth to explain but Tobias came up with a theory, "were you trying to impress Agent Todd? Thought they made you look intellectual?"

"No," said Tony a bit sulkily, "tho' Abby thinks I look good in specs."

"So what's the story?" pressed Fornell, proving why he was one of the FBI's most successful finder of felons.

"If you must know, I'd just finished working undercover. I wore the glasses as part of my disguise and I sort of got used to them. Took me a while to let them go. Hey, you know what it's like to go undercover, Fornell. How long did it take you to get rid of that beard?"

Fornell obviously thought this was a reasonable explanation so let it go.

"OK, I'll send you an invitation for the forum. Don't expect it will happen more than once. New broom, you know," and with a wave of the hand he was gone.

"Make sure the donuts are good," Tony called after him.

He went to sit at his desk and glowered at something that had been left there.

"Where did this come from?" he asked, gingerly picking up a glossy pamphlet between one finger and thumb.

"Ducky put something on your desk," said Gibbs with an unconvincing air of innocence, "didn't see what it was."

Tony glared at his boss, whose near-sight might be rubbish but who was still one of the best snipers around and could probably read all the papers pinned to Tony notice board - at home.

"I expect he meant to put it on _your_ desk," Tony said coldly and he held the offending article up. It was a helpful booklet called 'Seeing Better After Forty'. McGee chose that moment to enter the squad room; he saw the pamphlet and drew a wrong conclusion,

"Doing some research ahead of the eye exam, Tony?"

Tony did not answer but directed a withering stare at him which would probably have been of assistance in Abby's quest to discover what it took to de-hydrate a wood louse. Tim gulped and sat down quickly at his desk deciding not to share his research on whether college athletes were more or less likely to need corrective eyewear as they approached middle-age. Gibbs just smiled.

NCISNCIS

Tuesday dawned and there was a discernible sense of excitement in the Navy Yard. There was one book on how strong Tony's new glasses would be and another on the design of his new frames – the winner would be the one judged to be the nearest to the various pictures supplied by Abby. The future of some family holidays hinged on the result: failure might mean one family would be going to Rock Creek Park for summer picnics while success would supply a trip to Florida.

Tony's appointment was at 3pm. He returned to the squad room from Abby's lab to collect his gear. She had finally worked out the wood louse drying up equation and he could complete his report. He was surprised to find Ducky and Jimmy standing by his desk.

"Just wanted to wish you well, Anthony," said Ducky earnestly as he held out his hand for Tony to shake, "chin up. Things are rarely as bad as you expect."

"I'm not really expecting anything bad," protested Tony.

"Quite right, my boy, quite right, never pays to give into these things."

"What things?" asked Tony worriedly.

"Eye exams can show up all sorts of medical conditions," contributed Jimmy, "diabetes, high blood pressure ..."

"Don't forget thyroid problems, Mr Palmer," interjected Ducky.

"I hadn't forgotten, Dr Mallard, I was coming to that."

"I do apologise, Mr Palmer, I know you take a keen interest in all matters ophthalmic."

"And then there are problems with the eye itself," continued Jimmy, "glaucoma ..."

"Guys," said Tony, "this is all very interesting. But it's just a routine eye exam. Nothing to worry about."

"Indeed," said Ducky thoughtfully, "you know that's exactly what my friend Ebenezer Gillespie said just before he went for an eye exam."

Almost despite himself, Tony said,

"And what happened?"

And Jimmy asked,

"Did he find out he had some dreadful disease, Dr Mallard?"

"Nobody knows, nobody knows. He walked under a bus on his way to the optician. Tragic loss. He was an excellent golfer ... well, he had a tendency to ..."

"Must go," said Tony, "must go. Really, must go."

NCISNCIS

Marylou-Belle had only been working for Winkies a few months so hadn't witnessed Agent DiNozzo's previous eye exam but she had heard the stories and was looking forward to seeing him in person. Marylou-Belle was a kind person and wished nobody any harm but when Agent DiNozzo arrived for his appointment she was conscious of an uncharacteristic hope that he would need reading glasses. She would _so_ enjoy helping him pick out the perfect frames!

Nancy was in a benevolent mood so let her assistant do the glaucoma tests on their handsome patient. She trusted them both to be professionals in the slightly darkened room. Then came the dreaded vision test ...

NCISNCIS

Gibbs felt a little guilty about the glee he had been feeling in the days leading up to Tony's visit to Winkies. He also remembered what a blow it had been to him when he had first been told he had to wear reading glasses and he decided that perhaps he should show DiNozzo some support. So it was that he was parked opposite the optometrist's when Tony emerged. Just as Tony had had a group to send him off from the Navy Yard, a number of people waved him off from Winkies.

"I'll call you to let you know when they're in," Gibbs heard Marylou-Belle promise.

Gibbs felt a small pang of sympathy for a soon-to-be bespectacled Tony. He was glad he'd had the forethought to take a steak out of the freezer that morning. Looked like cowboy steaks would be needed tonight.

There was clearly nothing wrong with Tony's long-sight. He spotted Gibbs parked across the street and went across,

"Something wrong, Boss? We get a call?"

"Nope, thought you might want to talk."

"About what?" asked Tony even as he opened the door and sat in beside Gibbs.

"It's a difficult time," said Gibbs.

"It is?"

"Sure. Made me feel old," admitted Gibbs.

"What did?"

"What you've just been through," said Gibbs.

"I think I'm a bit more technology minded than you, Boss," said Tony, "so, no offence, but that technology didn't really make me feel old."

"What's technology got to do with anything?" asked Gibbs, a bit cross that his sympathy didn't seem to be being appreciated.

"Well, some of those glaucoma tests are a bit fiddly," said Tony.

"Not the tests, Bozo," said Gibbs, "the results."

"Oh, Boss. I didn't know. I didn't know you had something _wrong_ with your eyes, I thought they were healthy just, well, you know, not seeing so well. Boss, I'm so sorry. Why didn't you say something? What does Ducky say?"

"My eyes are _fine_," said Gibbs crossly.

"Then what are we talking about?" asked Tony, beginning to think that talking to Abby was actually simpler than this.

"About your eyes."

"What about my eyes?"

"About them not being right."

"What do you know that I don't?" asked Tony with a sense of rising panic.

"I just heard Lalla-May Bou say you were having to get glasses," said Gibbs.

"I think it's Marylou-Belle, Boss," said Tony wanting to be accurate.

"TONY!" roared Gibbs, "I'm trying to be sympathetic here."

"You are?" said Tony in a voice of wonder, "Wow," he thought for a moment or two, "er, Boss. You might need to work on that. Just saying."

Gibbs tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried not to think it was Tony's neck.

"You're taking this better than I expected, DiNozzo," he ground out eventually.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Boss. Ducky and Palmer got me going a bit with that morale boosting send off but it's fine. It's all fine."

"Tony," said Gibbs gently, "it's OK to admit it. I know it's a shock when you find out."

"Find out what, Boss?"

"That you need glasses."

"But I don't need glasses, Boss. 20/10 vision. Better than most."

"But Nancy said ..."

"Oh, that," said Tony as light dawned, "last year she said I might need reading glasses. But I'm fine. 20/10 ..."

"Yes, I know," said Gibbs, "better than most. But what happened?"

"D'you remember when I had the exam last year? Just after the Wilshire case?"

"So?" asked Gibbs.

"When I got that concussion? And then I wasn't allowed to sleep for 24 hours because of all the concussion checks?"

"So?" repeated Gibbs.

"So, when I went for my exam, I was having trouble focussing. Didn't do all that well."

"And I'm guessing you didn't tell Nancy you'd just had a concussion?"

"No," said Tony, obviously thinking that would be ridiculous.

"So why are you getting glasses?" asked Gibbs, wondering if Fornell's theory about the intellectual look had kicked off something in DiNozzo's brain.

"Sunglasses, Boss, sunglasses. Marylou-Belle looked so disappointed that I didn't need glasses that I let her pick me out some new sunglasses. Very Steve McQueen."

Gibbs smiled and shook his head.

"Boss, that was actually very kind of you. You know, coming here to offer me a shoulder to cry on."

"Not sure I would have let you do that, DiNozzo," said Gibbs uncomfortably.

"And I wouldn't have wanted to," asserted Tony, "but, thank you anyway."

"It's what Bosses are meant to do," said Gibbs, "I think there's a rule about it. Let's get back to work."

Tony got out of the car but then remembered something. He leant back through the window,

"Boss, have you ever met Abby's friend Tory?"

* * *

_AN: This is definitely the end. I'm not writing McGee's eye exam! Thank you to NCIS fan who gave me the title of the helpful booklet._


End file.
